


Somewhere Along In The Bitterness

by Corvid_Knight, NKMLN



Series: Earth C Shenanigans [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Post-Sburb, alright this one hurt, collab fic, striders talking shit out, that one AU where everyone ends up alive on earth C
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-27 01:04:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15674901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NKMLN/pseuds/NKMLN
Summary: Someone else just showed up on Earth C, and it's Dirk's responsibility to explain what happened. Might be easier if they didn't have so much history with each other, honestly.this is a collab fic withninja-kitty-more-like-no!





	Somewhere Along In The Bitterness

**== > Dirk: Give the fuck up. **

You don't know what the fuck he's doing. Begging for his life or manipulating you, either/both/neither, and to be honest you can't take this shit anymore. Not with the sky shattering above you, not with everything that's about to go down. 

You're done.

"Fuck it," you say. And you don't look back.

* * *

**== > Years later, and a universe away.**

There's a pair of shades on the main workroom table, sitting on top of your voltage tester. They weren't there when you left to go appease Dave by getting something to eat—and drinking some water, and talking to him until he was satisfied that you were just working on a project and not stuck in yet another depressive spiral—okay, so you've been out of the room for a good hour or more, but that's not the point. 

The point is, those weren't there before. And even though they look like the ten or so pairs of triangular shades you have stashed in virtually every room, they aren't yours. 

Not anymore. 

None of the shades you own right now has that gently pulsing telltale light in the upper corner of the right eye. 

For maybe as long as a minute, you just stand there and stare at it (at _him_ ), feeling your heartbeat get louder and harder rather than actually speeding up. Not really all that useful, physiologically. Like your body's trying to explicitly tell you that your mental state isn't giving it clear enough information to let it do anything helpful. 

After some length of time, you pick the shades up by the edges, careful not to cover the little red light as it pulses again. The battery icon blinks as you hold the shades up a bit, informing you that you have approximately sixty hours left before you need to expose him to one of the charging methods you designed him to utilize. 

No text other than that, though. Either this isn't what you think it is, or he's being uncharacteristically quiet.  
You're not sure how to tell which. 

Actually, screw it. You _do_ know. 

You close your eyes for a second, putting the glasses on. 

As soon as you open your eyes again, the wave of panic radiating off the thing swallows you whole, bad enough that you stagger and barely catch yourself against the table. Bolts and small tools roll and bounce on the floor, you steady yourself a little, and the shades...

Don't do anything, other than keep radiating that aura of fear that you're pretty sure you only sense through your familiarity with your aspect. 

God, why isn't he saying anything? 

"Hal." No response, and you lean against the worktable a bit more, stopping yourself from fidgeting with the little bits of wire your hands keep finding. "Hal. Hal? You there?" 

I’m sorry please I’m sorry please don’t please don’t Dirk I’m sorry I’m sorry please—

You tear the glasses off your face, the sharp edges digging painfully into your fingers in your haste to get away from the red text, from his voice in your head. You've never heard him like this, strangled and panicked and so terrified you can't process it. 

And of _course_ they slip through your shaking fingers. The shades fall, skittering across the floor like they're possessed of some motive force you never gave them, until they come to rest next to the door. 

"Shit." It comes out softer than you intend. Still loud enough for him to be able to hear, though. Which is probably going to make things worse; as is the fact you can't bring yourself to go over and pick them up. 

You should. 

You can't. 

You _can't_ —

You—

" _Shit,_ " you say again, a bit louder this time. Or maybe not louder; you can't really tell. 

You feel...dizzy. Not quite dizzy. 

"...shit." 

You kneel down, very delicately scooping the shades up and balancing them on your palm, sweeping a patch of surface on the worktable clean so you can set them down. 

He looks...unfairly innocuous, sitting there on the scratched metal. You reach for him again, reconsider, and back up a few paces. 

The deep breath you take does fuck-all to calm you, a  
nd repeating it just makes you wonder whether you're going to hyperventilate. You force yourself to stop, running a hand through your hair. 

Okay. Okay. Chill the hell out.

"Hal, listen to me, okay? I'm not—I'm not going to hurt you. You're safe. I—hold on." 

You have to force yourself to pick the shades up and put them back on again, and all the willpower in the world can't keep your hands from trembling. Hal's gone silent again, although you can still feel something powerful and not at all positive coming off him. 

"Hal?" 

Nothing. 

"Hal, I swear you're safe. I need you to talk to me." 

You killed me.

His voice, automated though it is, is harsh with terror not wholly carried thorough your Heart senses. It hits you with a sick jolt, enough to force your eyes shut against the dizzy unbalanced feeling. 

It's not even an accusation. That's the worst of it. _You killed me_ is nothing more than a blunt fact, the end point of his terrifying, horrible existence, the summation of what the one person he'd lived with his while life chose to do to him, the fucking _unforgivable_ —

Am I dead?

Fuck, you don't even know what would have happened to him if you _had_ killed him, but you do know how to answer his question. You shake your head and sit down on the cleared section of the worktable, crossing and then uncrossing your arms as you struggle to keep yourself together.

"..what do you remember?" It's not really an answer (not like he wants, anyway) but it's the best you can do right this second. Curling your hands around the hard metal edges of the table and bearing down as hard as you dare helps, a little. You deserve the pain. 

Hal's silent for a few seconds; you can sense him searching his memory banks, trying to pinpoint the edges of memory. 

You almost broke me. I felt the cracks, and then you—you threw me over your shoulder. Then it's just—it's just...black.

There's a longer hesitation. 

And then I woke up. Here. I woke up here.

You take a deep breath. Time for explaining, you guess. "Okay. You didn't die." 

Hal's silent. 

"You, uh. You stopped existing, yeah, but that wasn't—it was because I threw you into the sprite, okay? Not because I—not because you died. You didn't die, I—I wouldn't—" 

Don't lie to me. 

"What?" 

Don't tell me you wouldn't, okay. Don't tell me you wouldn't kill me when you just made me beg for my _fucking_ life.

You're still getting fear from him, but now it's interwoven with anger. Understandable anger. 

Don't say you wouldn't hurt me when you did.

"I..." 

You don't know what to say. You don't have the words for this, just...pain, lodged like a bullet in your chest, a bone in your throat. 

"You're right," you tell him. God, your throat aches like you're going to cry. Hal's going to see you cry. 

You're...okay with that. Or you will be. 

"I'm sorry," you tell him, because that's all you have to say. "Fuck, Hal, I—I'm sorry." 

He goes quiet, for long enough that you check his battery level again. Still almost full, maybe even higher than it was before since he's had the opportunity to charge off your kinetic energy. Hal is silent, and you won't force him to answer you, but neither will you set him aside.

You count the beats of your heart. 

At 193, red text unspools across the screen again. 

How am I here? And then, And where is _here_?

It's not a rejection of the apology. Not an acceptance either. You expected the former, though, so this is...okay. 

"This is—we won the game. This is the new universe." 

Earth C.

"Yeah. Earth C. You're here because—well. We're still not sure _why_ , but people who—didn't make it through—" 

Died.

"Not necessarily, Davesprite showed up and he didn't die, he just prototyped with Nepetasprite like you prototyped with Equiusprite, and there's at least one sprite that no one's sure where it came from—" 

Does it actually make you feel better? Insisting you didn't kill me?

Damn. "No. I fucked up, even if I didn't go through with killing you. And I _didn't,_ Hal." 

No response, other than a flurry of red sparks across your vision. 

"Anyway, we, uh...we won the game, we came here, and people from the old universes started showing up. Including you." You tap your nails against the table, feeling the strain on your sore palms. "If you want, I can. I can call Roxy, have her come over and give you the spiel. Hell, she'll take you home, if you don't...want to be here." 

< i>If you don't feel safe with me. The words you don't say leave a sourer taste in your mouth than the ones you do.

Roxy's alive?

You laugh faintly, no trace of humor in the sound. 

"We're all alive. Everyone made it." And then you cringe, remembering who you're talking to. 

Everyone, Dirk?

There's a wry twist in his voice, replacing the fear, and that's the first time he's used your name since you put the shades on the second time. You'll take it as an improvement.

"I mean...yeah. With some extras, like I said—Davesprite and Davepeta both, you and ARquius, shit like that. All of us are here, though. Roxy, Jake and Jane—"

Ah. Jake.

"Yeah. Uh. We're together again..." 

I'm glad.

Oh. 

You note the red mark on your palm from the table's edge, as you run that hand through your hair again. "I—thanks." Fuck. You didn't expect that from him. "Hal, like I said...you don't have to stay here if you don't feel safe." 

It takes him a while to consider that statement. 

I'm leaving that question for a later date.

"Yeah, of course." You nod, sigh, and lean back a little. 

Neither of you say anything for a while, until you scrape up the guts to tell him, "I'm sorry I was like that." 

That makes two of us.

There's a fuck of a long way you still need to go to apologize for what you did to him, but...at least you've made a start.


End file.
